Would you like to play a game? Okay. List five things that you would enjoy tremendously, that you consider to be utterly luxurious, that you perhaps have done occasionally but maybe never at all. Got it? Now look at your list. Are you sure of it? Did it change over time?
Merriam-Webster defines luxury this way: 1. a condition of abundance or great ease and comfort; 2. something adding to pleasure or comfort but not absolutely necessary; 3. an indulgence in something that provides pleasure, satisfaction or ease.
But isn't luxury like happiness? You often don't recognize it when it's there. You imagine it to be something that is fleeting and perhaps unattainable. It's that stage that you aspire to, that you work for, but with that fear that it's all in vain, because luxury belongs to those born to wealth and to power over your life.
And isn't it true that luxury can be something that you once had but lost? Freedom to a jailed person. A home to one who is homeless. Democracy for those kept under the thumb of a despot. Time to a stressed working parent.
When I feel I'm in a state of total bliss, I believe that I've suddenly touched on luxury. There are the times of unusual creature comforts: an upgrade to a lie-down seat during an overnight flight. A massage with perhaps scents of rose and lavender. A room with a lovely view. Someone to clean the house once a month (more often, but that would be a state of guilt inducing ultra-luxury). But truly, near the top of my list would be sitting comfortably in a place with abundant flowers all around me, in good weather (broadly defined), with a milky coffee (a latte really), and a good book. Add a dog who is sweet and loving to the scene, with gentle music in the background, and I am in a state of bliss.
So... sort of like this:
(she likes to join me at the table)
I love my young families, I love Ed. I love Millie! I'm thrilled that we're all reasonably healthy, that we have roofs over our heads and that the kids are being well schooled (in academics and in kindness). I'm happy when they're happy. On the other hand, if you ask me -- why work so damn hard at planting and tending all those flowers, at preparing what I regard to be a breakfast of the gods (granola, a rich yogurt, a bowl of freshly cut up fruits, honey, and of course -- milky coffee), why get up each morning with a bounce and a grin, well, it's because there are days that start like this. And when I sit down on that front porch and look out over the roses, lilies and dozens of other plants (to say nothing of the pots and a pitcher of famette flowers)...
... I really feel I've reached the summit. This is it: luxury. Not a yacht (ugh, I hate boats anyway), not a villa with ten bedrooms and an equal number of bathrooms, not a Rolls Royce with a chauffeur (can't trust random drivers), not a stay at the George Cinq (I love Le Baume!). Not a loaded investment portfolio (earned on the backs of the poor), not jewels -- never jewels or designer anything. Not a swimming pool in the backyard (though a sauna would be fun I think), not fine art hanging on the walls (does that make anyone really happy? Happier than less expensive art?). Just me in my shorts and t-shirt (that has a patina born of years of gardening) and flip-flops, with a small Ukrainian painting leaning on the mantle, sitting here on Steffi's cottage porch, looking over my (almost fully) planted garden, with time to read a book (Kate Atkinson's at the moment) and sip my warm coffee.
Total luxury.
It is also a form of luxury to be able to call your sweetie and ask for digging help when it is 91F/33C outside and humid. Bliss it is not. I carry buckets of stone and clay out, Ed wields the pick-axe. But without his help, I would have tortured my way through this. And I would not have him look down and say -- I see the wire that runs here. You better call Spectrum. It's a coaxial cable.
But this wasn't marked! Or was it? I check my photos. It's off a few inches, but in the vicinity. Well, we didn't break it, but still, you cant just throw dirt over it -- it needs an inspection. Here's a lucky break -- it's the last hole I expect to dig in Millie's yard this year (where lines seem to crisscross under the soil). Next spring, if inspiration strikes me to plant something else, I'll have the diggers hotline people come out again and I've learned to give the markings a wide berth.
(my roses in the back)
In the evening the young family is here for dinner.
It used to be that I could cook up a storm, nurse a glass of wine, talk to my daughter, listen to the kids' stories, take photos left and right -- without batting an eye. These days I dont even think about the camera until we sit down to dinner.
I'm laser-focused on getting the food on the table all at the same time. A simple meal, but there are 4 pots on the stovetop and one pan of food inside the oven. Oh, and Snowdrop's vegetarian dish in the microwave. So, no photos, despite the fact that everyone is awfully cute and yes, there's a large black dog under the table and Millie is climbing over him to see if anyone dropped some food. Photographic gems. But not for me. That Stoneman's corn cannot be overdone and some noodles need to have no tomato sauce over them and the chicken should be juicy but certainly not pink.
When the young family leaves, Ed lingers. We were to watch our show, but I walked Millie past a very dry set of flowers outside, so I took out the hose for one last watering for the day.
I deem Millie to be fit and safe for doggie daycare tomorrow. The funny thing is -- I'll miss having her always by my side, looking into my eyes to see where my thoughts are heading,. It's been a very beautiful set of Millie days.
with so much love...
